


Subcircle

by TigerMoonBETA



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Demon AU, Demons, Don't Worry Too Much About The Character Death Tag, F/F, Hell, Implied Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Recreational Drug Use, SCRYING, Swearing, aka Demon Summoning with a Mirror, dumpster diving, its not as bad as it sounds, the first 2 chapters are the worst as far as violence/blood goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoonBETA/pseuds/TigerMoonBETA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some shitty BMTH reference about how Peridot can't drown her demons bc they swim</p><p>Don't try to summon demons with a mirror you found while dumpster diving, kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pushover

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Personal Demons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256258) by [Necey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necey/pseuds/Necey). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for some recreational drug use and blood

"You know this is like, illegal, right?"

 

"Shut up and hit the blunt. You're too sober."

   
Despite the frigid, numb that's come to her fingers- they're varying shades of white and red, and she's cursing herself for not bringing gloves- Peridot reluctantly reaches out and takes it. She fumbles; can't really feel it in her hands so she has to squint in the harsh lighting of the half moon and not let it snuff out or burn her.  
Still hating the both of them for dragging her out here at the ungodly hour, brings it up to her mouth, and as the thought _maybe I am kind of a push over_ begins to formulate in her mind, it's forced out with an inhale, by a slight tingle and a warm that spreads through her limbs, and she gutters a sigh because any protest is long gone.  
  
Holding it in fits her ideals, salvage as much as possible, but choking and spiraling into a coughing fit is an excellent way to get them caught, in fact she can think of no better, besides they'd never let her live that down. Peridot crooks her mouth open, and the smoke that curls, rises, wraps her head in a fog has that hardy, earth smell that can _almost_ drown out the fact that she's in what is, essentially, a landfill.

Once more for good measure, or just because she's been having a shitty week, until a cocky, half-hearted snicker is enough to break her out of that, and with a scoff, rolling her eyes, Peridot shoves the blunt back into Jasper's hand. It's kindergarten and fucking Hot Potato all over again.

"Better, pipsqueak?"

   
"Can it, Tony the Tiger."

It's better, she'll admit. Something about the haze is satisfactory in keeping the _what ifs_ at bay. God, she'd never hear the end of it from her mother- a phone call at two in the morning: _ma' am, your daughter has been arrested for trespassing... in a dumpster._ The thought is enough to make her laugh, quiet, muffled into the fabric of a scarf, so enthralled in the humor, her sneaker catches on the rubber of a tire, and it nearly sends her face first, toppling into a pile of old Chinese takeout containers.

"Klutz."

 

"Fuck off."

   
The moon of mid-November calms the swell of embarrassment as the three trudge onward, and no longer eager to fall behind, Peridot keeps herself at a steady, though it's not easy with short legs, nor is it fun to be suffocated by a mass of white fluff which she swears is a mane.

"Enlighten me; again, why are we dumpster diving?"

  
"Who put a stick up your ass?"

  
"Amethyst, I know you love garbage, but couldn't we have just gone to your house? Your room is just as much of a sty, if not worse."

  
It's a gasp of false offense, Amethyst places her hand on her chest, but she can't hold the act for long and it breaks with a fit of obnoxious giggles and snorts. "Ease up, Peri-cunt. Sometimes y' find cool shit to sell, n' what's better than gettin' money?"

  
"Getting sleep. Or getting laid."

  
Neither has a rebuttal to that, so Peridot considers the argument closed.  
Though as they continue forward, further away from their only exit/escape- unless they want to climb over the barbed-wire fence- she begins to worry her lower lip between her teeth, and ask for the blunt again. Each step sets off another nerve, and everything seems louder, and she's really starting to wish she had some xanax. The crunching of _whatfuckever_ under her feet is coaxing out the edges of a headache, every atom she _feels it,_ crisp air chills her lungs and leaves her shivering and when Amethyst stops them to rummage through a pile, it takes all her resolve not to drop down on her knees and pray to the possibility of a god.

Peridot's got the sting of an almost frost-bitten nose, red and shiny, her cheeks flushed, stuffing her hands in her pockets, then pulling them out to at least try for some circulation. Rubbing them together and the panic starts to set in when she can barely feel anything. Jasper's quick to it, not as alert but reassures with a "hey, you okay buddy?"

"Just cold."

  
"We'll head back soon."

  
She almost hates them for it. Of course it would be her luck to get stuck with the pair that liked to trash pick, just on the brink of winter in the middle of the night. Finds herself asking, _w_ _hy can't they do normal things?_ Perhaps she should have held her ground and told them no; Peridot's well aware of her tendency to become hyper aware of her surroundings past midnight, may she be awake for whatever reasons.  
Everything is loud, _loud, **loud,**_ and she even takes the charity- it'll be a roach in a minute and it's probably mid but Jasper gives her a look of pity, her eyes soften and she hands the rest of it in a hope it'll help with the shaking and chills.  
  
It does- it does _sort of._ It makes things not as loud and... is she still shaking? Maybe, but at least she can't feel it. It's nice... everything hangs, suspended in time and a cloudy film glazes over Peridot's emerald eyes and makes them almost as vivid as Jasper's in the moonlight. Something good. It's tolerable- she's starting to think maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.

Until Amethyst displaces the pile of garbage and it comes down in a clattering heap- scrap metals, tin cans, a hubcap, two by fours tumble to the solid, frozen ground to that of fall, and the sound of it cuts Peridot to the bone. It's still ringing in her ears, and in an anxiety induced panic, she scrambles back the way they came- weaving through the maze of unwanted, useless things, heaving in oxygen as though lungfuls of the stuff could make her run faster. Carrying herself as fast as her tiny legs will allow, they're already starting to burn and the feeling that twists in her gut is that of resenting not participating in gym class because there's _no way she's getting arrested tonight.  
  
_ As everything seems to slow, and suddenly the only sound that she can process is that of her labored inhales and exhales, and the thrumming in her ears, Peridot's mind slips back to psychology. The amygdala's activity increases during an emergency, recording an extra set of memories, and when more memories are present, the longer things seem to have taken. And her thoughts jump from that, to _why am I remembering this instead of which way we came oh god was it left or right._

She doesn't _care_ and Jasper's calling to her is in sharp focus, but she doesn't stop. Not for stumbling, or breathing, or for anyone, so she chooses left.

In all honesty, it's more than likely an irrational response- booking it and throwing her friends under a metaphorical bus. She's got anxiety to thank for that and an active, pessimistic imagination that runs more in one night than she's ever run in her life.

And she sees it before she feels it through the fog in her head but it's something _shiny and **pointy and sharp**_ that she whips by and it's far too late by then. It digs through the ridiculously puffy material of her coat, through her shirt, and through her skin. It's probably just a piece of scrap metal and through the adrenaline rush that's got her pupils dilated, she sees the blood before she feels the burn of the laceration in her arm. That's what stops her, and Peridot swallows a lump in her throat, once, twice- it sticks- and finally her eyes focus on the spray of blood droplets that are coating the nearby rubbish.  
Her muscles tense, her breath stills, and in a few moments everything catches up as Jasper skids to a stop next to her, hissing " _dude, why are you just standing there, let's go!"_  
  
The brute doesn't stick around for an explanation, and Peridot doesn't offer one, and though her thoughts are reverberating in her skull so fast she swears it'll give her a concussion, the one coherent thing that sticks out is _leave no DNA at the scene of the crime._

Her fingers wrap around what appears to be, after a quick inspection, a hand mirror that got the brunt of the blood, and she takes off running, shoving more garbage down so they'll have to dig to find the rest.

The rest of the way, darting aimlessly through the wasteland, blinking back tears of either pain or panic because _oh god are those police sirens,_ Peridot forces herself through the hole in the fence, Jasper wraps her _meaty baseball mitt of a hand_ around Peridot's forearm, hoists her up, and carries her the rest of the way to the car. Somewhere in between there, Peridot vaguely feels herself being tossed in the backseat, being buckled in, and hearing _"go! drive, drive, hurry-"_ but with the blood emptying from her body, as if she wasn't pale enough, she clutches the mirror to her chest, with the most pleasant shade of blue glinting in her eyes, she decides it's the most optimal time to take a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,, like, ,ahah rip  
> hmu in the comments if i should continue this, and please let me know if it's alright for me to be writing in present tense. i figure some people will like it, others won't, and if it's really bad i'll change it to past tense.


	2. You Dumbshit

_ The floor is covered in unmistakable sprays of blood that pool and splatter as far and wide, petrified green eyes dare to look. There’s no light- not that she sees anyway- but despite the horizon and all surroundings being pitch black, there’s this unsettling, eerie glow that glints across the spilled ichor and it’s. Blue? _

_  
If she had the energy, Peridot would try to comprehend the multitude of questions that rattle through her skull but she’s  _ **_tired_ ** _ and she’s afraid if she thinks any longer-  _ whose blood is that? Where am I? Why is it blue?-  _ that her already throbbing headache is going to get worse. The lack of energy means the small girl can’t bite back the shiver that runs up her spine when the liquid coating the soles of her sneakers starts to shift and churn and  _ **_rise._ ** _   
_ __ Bubbling up to her ankles, Peridot grimaces and coils away, though there’s nowhere to turn, because it’s hot. It’s scorching. She pulls in a shaky breath and blinks, gulping the air down and when she’s able to refocus, it’s up to her knees.

_ It’s a panicked no, no, no, and the blonde sputters to life, frantically stepping back and kicking as she looks for any means of getaway from the hellscape there’s  _ **_nothing_ ** _ and the blood surges up past her hips and chest and to her neck. Peridot’s final gasp of air is a borderline scream and she wears she’s being boiled alive, and her body contorts in an inhuman way, though there's no point of coherent thought that speaks 'maybe spines aren't suppose to bend that way.' Then in a blinding flash of light, the back of Peridot’s head aches as she registers the brilliant wave of blue. _

  
  
And her eyes open.

* * *

 

  
Peridot heaves in lungfuls of oxygen, her fingers digging into the sheets of her bed but she cringes as jerks her arm away at the pain that shoots up to her shoulder. It's a poorly-dressed wound which, likely conceals a jagged line of stitches that rouses the memory of a landfill and running and police sirens and cutting her arm and _the mirror._ Heavy eyelids droop and she blinks once, twice, and tries to clear the shaky anxiety of whatever that nightmare was, her head hanging low and it turns. Scanning the room as though somehow it would be different, but the only thing that's new is the way her neck cracks from being too stiff, and Peridot wonders a lot. Like how long she's been out and what happened after she'd blacked.

Her head swims with something thick and dizzy, and it takes her a second longer than she would have liked to register the all-too-familiar mass of white hair that appears when her door creaks open.

 

"Oh, you're awake."

 

Peridot blinks, and offers a hum, which for some reason gives her chills and little goosebumps prick up on her arms.

 

"Feeling okay?" Jasper asks, and she's courteous to shut the door quietly, somehow quieting her usually loud footsteps as she lumbers across the room to the injured blonde.

 

"Feel like shit," is what Peridot manages to croak out, and she absolutely loathes the way her throat is raw and hoarse.

 

"Next time try not to panic and bolt out on us next time then."

 

Truthfully, Peridot doesn't feel like responding to that; because to some extent, the brute knows that she can't help the way her mind races despite the lack of permission or the nasty thoughts that invade her head and put her on edge.  
Those things Peridot prefers not to share, but inevitably she can't be avoid. It's easier, the blonde finds, to bottle it up and shove it deep, deep down into the recesses of her mind.

  
An outstretched hand snaps Peridot out of the possible replies of 'you know I can't help it' or the more blunt, crude 'shut the fuck up'. Jasper presents what's probably aspirin and gestures to a glass of water that Peridot hadn't noticed was on her bedside table but that's fine, and she doesn't need an explanation. Normally, she'd be a little wary of everyone and everything though the slowly manifesting, throbbing pain and the fact that Jasper is one of her closest friends (they do live together, and they've seen each other naked at least twice), means Peridot lets herself not give a fuck, to put it simply. It goes down in one gulp, maybe she coughs but that's not the point.

  
"So what the fuck happened?" she musters up the nerve to ask.

  
"We brought you back home and Pearl stitched you up. Nothing too bad. No one got arrested either, so don't worry."

  
"You realize I'm never fucking doing that again right?"

  
"I hear you loud and clear."

* * *

  
A few hours and another nap later, Peridot gathers the strength and will to heave herself out of bed, but most of that motivation comes from the uncomfortable cramp in her gut. First, it's eating some leftover something that she doesn't bother to identify, but when it doesn't go away, Peridot groans and carries herself to the bathroom- though she just wants to get back into bed, peeing now is smarter than waking up at three in the morning because of her laziness.   


While she's washing her hands, Peridot can't help but turn her gaze to the mirror in front of herself and 

"Wow," she snorts, wrinkling her nose at the reflection. "I look like shit."

Greasy bangs plastered to her forehead and sunken eyes and an oily sheen to her forehead that she _wishes_ didn't remind her of pizza. Yeah. A bath sounds good, because she's too tired to stand.

 

Her hands turn the metal knobs, water comes sputtering out of the faucet, and she pulls the plunger to start filling up the tub. Tiny feet carry her tiny body out of the bathroom and to her dresser, where she slides open her drawer and rifles through her clothes to something that's comfortable enough to sleep in.  
Peridot pads back into the bathroom, breathing a sigh that gets cut short when her stare falls on the counter top and it's.

The mirror.

The one she stole from the junkyard.

She doesn't remember it being there, and with her breath catching slightly in her throat, Peridot sets her change of clothes to the side, trying to rationalize that Jasper had put it there to be dealt with later. But the second her hand wraps around the handle of the mirror, a jolt runs through her body and she's forgotten to apply logic. Memories surge through her, and Peridot doesn't know why she's remembering them, because they're not hers, but it flashes too quickly to make reason of it and the mirror clatters against the marble as she retracts her hand.

Like her dream, there's blood and blue and lots and lots of water. And it's strange, because the emotion that overcomes her is anger, and Peridot doesn't want to know why.

Huffing, she picks it up again, something compelling her, expecting the worse, but nothing happens and she's left to wonder if she's gone crazy. That or those leftovers were _too_ leftover, or the combination of medication she's on isn't suppose to be taken together. Either way, she frowns at the blood stains decorating the back- her blood, and snatching a washcloth off the towel bar, she dunks it in the gradually filling tub and begins to scrub it off. Though after a few minutes of mindless elbow grease, Peridot notices it doesn't seem to be coming off.

She grits her teeth and presses harder, the edges of her vision going fuzzy and she zeros in on the tiniest bit of blue that peeks through the coating brown-red of her dried blood. 

_ What am I doing? _

She falters.

And then drags the rag harder against the mirror.

_ What's wrong with me? _

_ Why did I agree to go with them? _

_ Why am I such a pushover? _

There's a bit of water pooling in her eyes, and as a tear slides down her cheek, Peridot rips herself back to reality, her whole body quivering. It's heavy and dark and consuming and suddenly she feels trapped and claustrophobic, the looming panic crawling up her back. There's something about this mirror.  


Or maybe she's just tired. She needs some rest.

The saline tear ghosts down the the sharp curve of her cheek, sticks to her chin, then falls, dripping on the mirror with an inaudible sound.

But the sound that comes when the mirror turns black, glows a brilliant blue, is that of shattering glass when Peridot drops the mirror.

* * *

 

She gets only a second to register the _thing_ in front of her, perched on the sink, and leathery wings that are tucked away and _piercing_ blue eyes that she swears stare into her soul. It looks her up, down, then to the broken mirror. With a snarl, and the rustling of wings and- _claws?-_ it scurries out of the bathroom, leaving scratch marks on the door, and knocking down just about everything on the counter. 

Peridot shakes. 

Then she goes still. 

There's a scream of pain that's cut deathly short after an awful empty silence, and Peridot decides she'd much rather have the heavy silence back then the cry out for help a few rooms over.

 

 

That's coming from Jasper. 

 

 

Coaxed out to her bedroom, it feels like hours but her legs carrying her subconsciously, Peridot miraculously avoids the broken shards of mirror on the floor, and her body stiffens at the sight of it. Every hair on her body stands up, and she has to fight the urge to vomit

This _creature_ perched atop her dresser, back hunched and head cocked to the side almost curiously. Its blue hair stands on end, ruffled and disheveled and stuck to its forehead by the same sticky, red substance that covers its cheeks and mouth and neck, and Peridot dares not tear her gaze away at the little shreds of flesh trapped under its claws. She also, almost dares to say 'she', a strikingly female resemblance to something Peridot can only call a beast. A monster. Even curled in on itself, it seems to block the light and darken the room, still Peridot can pinpoint the bloodthirsty look in its eyes.

A clawed hand lifts in the space between them, beckoning the blonde closer, and it's not by her own will that Peridot moves in its direction.

She feels small under its gaze. She's being inspected, analyzed, looked over and Peridot's not sure what's taking so long for the thing to kill her. It reaches down, hooking its fingers into the collar of Peridot's shirt and hoists her up.  
Their faces are much too close for comfort, and Peridot can _smell_ the foul, vile metallic sent of blood, and something musky, and something like sea spray as it exhales, inhales,

and presses their lips together.

 

Peridot's frozen, and once everything speeds up again and hits her like a freight train, she's dropped to the ground with judging, hostile eyes staring down at her.

And it opens its mouth.

 

"Thanks for fucking up my mirror. And your bathtub is overflowing, you dumbshit."


	3. Dizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have, so mething . just here ,,. just fukcing take it bc i dont know where im going with this anymore

It’s not lying, and Peridot knows this despite not being confident enough to break eye contact, there’s a faint sound of rushing of water as it overflows out of the tub and hits the bathroom tile. But Peridot’s too lost in blue eyes that crease and narrow at her as she refuses to speak, or at least, can’t find her words. Though, even if she could, it’s possible they’d get stuck coming out and she’d just look like an idiot, so Peridot keeps her mouth shut.   
A moment of quiet stillness hangs over them, something not as balanced as a staring contest because the short girl is very outmatched, but it teeters back and forth on who will budge first- Peridot when she considers running for her life. However, rolling its eyes, the creature lifts its hand and goes through the movements of some unplaceable gesture, then stares back at Peridot as she tries to make sense of the silence.

 

Silence.

 

The water isn’t running anymore.

 

Her head whips around in the direction of the bathroom, a small puddle flowing and pooling and creeping out from the slightly ajar door, but none from the faucet. Fuck. That’s gonna be a bitch to clean up, especially with the broken shards of mirror.

But what’ll be even worse to clean, Peridot realizes now as she turns her head and takes in the room, is the blood. Somehow splattered across her walls and on the floor outside her room, soaked into the carpet and dripping off her dresser. The creature-  _ what even is that?-  _ is covered in it too, and Peridot brings her hand up to her mouth, tasting the bitter edges of the iron that smudged across her mouth when that  _ thing  _ kissed her. Confused, and disgusted to say the very least, she tries to scrub the gore off her face, though stops mid swipe when the monster slides off her furniture and crouches on the floor, now at eye level.

 

“What year is it?”

 

_ What kind of question is that?  _ Peridot pauses, and swallows hard- there seem to be more pressing issues but if that thing wants to know the date, and it’ll keep her alive for longer, Peridot has no room to complain.

 

“Twenty fifteen.”

 

Peridot then notices something she hadn’t before, layering of scales up the sides of its neck as they flare out, running up to a set of- gills? The creature whose existence Peridot can only describe as  _ blue  _ considers this, and its eyes widen, and it frowns.

“Twenty fifteen?” it breathes, in what Peridot dares to say is disbelief. “You mean like, two zero one five? Two thousand and fifteen?”

 

It seems like a basic concept.

 

“Yes.”

 

The fire that sets off behind its eyes is, in Peridot’s humble opinion, anger.   
And that’s terrifying.

 

“Where,” it looms over her, speaking in a tone low and threatened and  _ evil,  _ digging its claws into the carpet and effectively ruining it “did you find that mirror?”

 

“I- in a…” fuck she can’t talk under that icy glare. “In a junkyard.”

 

The thing would never tell her, but it was mostly an attempt to weed out any lies, and when Peridot proves herself, the beast pulls away and gives her room to breathe. Except, Peridot’s having trouble finding air anyway, and she swallows thickly, trying to rid her throat of a knot, and trying not to blurt out every question that pops into her head.

Though through the silence comes another question, smooth words and the silence feels heavier.

 

“What’s your name?” it’s directed at her, the tone even and unreadable, but Peridot is wary and stubborn and normally that’s a good thing.    
  


“Why do you want to know?” Not now.

 

“Don’t you know it’s  _ rude  _ not to tell a demon your name?” Peridot goes stiff as a claw traces up the side of her cheek and the demon chuckles. “Unless you’d prefer to get acquainted with  _ these  _  instead of me?”

 

“Peridot,” the blonde answers, her eyes going cross as they try to focus on the talon that’s seconds away from tearing her a new mouth. It’s out the instant the suggestion of befriending those claws comes into the air and she decides immediately that being stubborn has no place in this conversation.“Peridot Aevitas.”

In the blue eyes Peridot finds herself staring back at, there’s an amused glint and the edges of the fiend’s mouth turn up almost in a smile and she realizes she made a mistake giving that away. There’s a sudden pang in her gut and Peridot hisses, and it’s not dread, folding over herself and turning onto her side, though she’s certain, had she been standing, she would have doubled over in pain anyway.

 

“Congratulations idiot. When you share your name with a demon they can hear your thoughts and you share feelings. See that pain in your gut is actually mine, and I’m  _ really  _ fucking hungry.”

 

Gone pale, Peridot whines and gasps, trying to push herself up but it’s with her bad arm, and after shaking violently for a second, that limb gives out and she crumples to the floor in a pathetic heap, her head knocking painfully against the ground and there’s not much resolve to stop herself from crying.

The demon almost feels bad.

 

It reaches down, props her up as gently as it can manage, and sits across from her with what Peridot wants to believe is guilt written across its face, but it’s hard to tell through a dizzying, nausea-inducing headache.

 

“S’ a pretty nasty cut,” it purses its lips and tilts its head in the direction of Peridot’s damaged arm. “I could fix it up for you.”

 

Though it’s phrased like an offer, there’s not much of a choice and it would alleviate some of the pain, so with whatever strength is left in her tiny, weak body, Peridot nods.

The claws retract, and an almost gentle looking hand reaches out, lithe fingers and a strangely un-calloused palm not hidden by scales and all, unraveling the bandaging and Peridot feels bile and acid climb up her throat as the cut on her arm comes into view. And she regrets eating leftovers.

Obviously, there’s little to no empathy left in the demon, but halfway through tugging the stitches out it seems to realize, and works a bit more tenderly, and that’s appreciated.

 

“And you can stop referring to me as  _ ‘it’  _ or ‘ _ the thing’  _ in your head,” the demon sighs, expression as though speaking through a bitterness. “It’s Lapis. Lapis Lazuli. The she-devil.”

 

“How did you kno-”

 

“You told me your name and now I can hear your thoughts. Now hold still.”

 

There’s a sharp finality to the words that sticks to Peridot, clinging to the roof of her mouth and keeping her lips pulled tightly shut; as though she could control the trembling of her body. Hell, she almost laughs, but the prospect of enraging a being from hell even further is enough to quell that urge, and Peridot swallows thickly.

 

She tries immensely hard to focus on something other than what’s going on as it-  _ Lapis  _ leans forward, tipping her head down and   
Peridot almost faints, as two fangs slide themselves into the wound, not needing to puncture the skin and there’s this dizzying, gut-wrenching feeling that has Peridot’s eyes rolling into the back of her brain that she wishes wasn’t that of her blood being sucked from her forearm. 

 

The compulsion to yank her arm away is sudden, strong, and the twitch of her fingers must set off something, but the short blonde has no desire to anger Lapis further or to worsen her injury. So, instead she sits, tense and feeble while the complacent chuckle that rolls off Lapis when she finally pulls away is sickening. 

 

“You didn’t-”

 

Her objection- her argument that Lapis had lied and had done nothing to heal her- is cut off; silenced by the thick heat that comes when the demon flattens her hand and slides it up the gash, Peridot all but screams as the wound closes itself up under the touch. It’s a sight- definitely ingrained into her mind and an image she won’t be forgetting any time soon.

 

“You were saying?”


End file.
